


Want To

by SomewhereApart



Category: CSI: Miami
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-19
Updated: 2009-05-19
Packaged: 2018-02-09 05:38:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1970961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomewhereApart/pseuds/SomewhereApart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some Cuban food, some country music, and a spacious county vehicle. Set anytime between the end of season 6 and mid season 7.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Want To

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually one of the first stories I ever wrote for these two -- in fact, it may actually be the first. It's been sitting around collecting dust for almost a year, so we're finally letting it see the light of day.

It stood to reason that it would happen eventually. There had always been tension between them, always been attraction. Eric remembered vividly the first time he'd seen Calleigh. She'd been her usual combination of no-nonsense and sexy (or maybe, he thought, it was the no-nonsense that made her sexy), and he'd had the immediate knee-jerk curiosity if she'd carry that confidence and single focus into the bedroom.

But then they'd spent all those days working together in the lab or out in the field, and Calleigh the Hot Ballistics Expert became simply Cal, who was afraid of ants and covered his ass when the bullet in his brain compromised his work, and who looked at him just a little too long sometimes. Still, he was a taken off guard when the tension between them, wound tighter than a torsion catapult over months of dancing around this whatever-it-was between them, finally released and sent them hurtling into each other until they were sweaty and panting and only just a little embarrassed by themselves. Mostly, he was surprised that their first time was a quickie in the backseat of a Hummer, with the evidence of a double homicide staring at them from the backseat.

But it just so happened that he was hungry that day. He'd overslept and skipped breakfast, and the double homicide had taken processing through to 2:00 in the afternoon. He was starving and it was a good forty-five minutes back to the lab, if they didn't hit traffic. So, passing their exit despite her protest, he'd pulled into the parking lot of a fabulous little Cuban restaurant that he'd been to twice with Marisol. They served take-out, he'd promised as he parked the Hummer in the shade on the far side of the nearly empty lot. As he reached for the door handle, he'd reminded her that the dead guys weren't going to get any deader in the twenty minutes they'd need for the pit stop.

"Fine, but be quick; I hate sitting on evidence, you know that." She'd tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, glanced out the window. "And you're buying."

"Deal."

Calleigh fiddled with the radio, flipping from Eric's pre-set Cuban station to the country station that was her guilty pleasure. He'd only been gone five minutes, but she was already impatient. Truth be told, she was hungry too, but there was a salad waiting for her in the break room at the lab that had a much better calorie count than what she'd had him order for her. They were here now, though, so she surveyed the parking lot, the beat-up cars, silently cursing the one that was blaring salsa music so loud it was competing with the Sugarland on her radio. Calleigh cranked her own volume in response -- not loud enough to share with the entire parking lot, but loud enough that Jennifer Nettles could at least keep her own beat.

When she got to the chorus about whether to think things through or go with the gut and just kiss already, she let her eyes drop shut for just a minute and considered the irony. She and Eric had been dancing around the same damned issue for months… ever since he was shot, really, she supposed. Something had shifted then, and her determination to keep everything professional, to suppress the occasional (okay, frequent) urge to stand too close or look too long, or to lose herself to thoughts about nibbling that oh-so-full lower lip just resulted in a riot of hormones that sublimated into dreams that nearly made _her_ blush. At least she didn't have to worry about the Jake-Calleigh-Eric Love Triangle of Doom and Disaster anymore, because the dreams that had resulted from _that_ few months had barely let her look him in the eye at work, and—

The sharp rapping of knuckles on the driver's side window startled her out of her thoughts, and at the sight of Eric she felt a rush of embarrassed heat flood her and just hoped it didn't show. She pushed the button for the automatic lock, and then resolved to let her thoughts out with the cold air that escaped the Hummer as he opened the door and handed over the food. "I think the top one's mine. Gimme."

"We're eating in the parking lot?" she questioned, untying the bag and handing over his container, fishing out a fork and one of the Cokes.

"I'm starving, and the evidence is here," he reasoned, digging in immediately.

Calleigh watched him eat for a few seconds, marveling at his ability to shovel in food and hoping he was at least affording himself enough time to chew; Tte last thing she wanted was to Heimlich him in a parking lot. When she popped her own dish open and forked up a mouthful, she managed just a little bit more grace.

In between bites and sips of Coke they talked about the case, about nothing, until he smirked at her, reaching over and swiping his thumb just below the corner of her mouth. "You have sauce…" he explained quietly, and something in his voice made her melt just enough to turn her head and scrape her teeth over the pad of his thumb to catch the bit of spice there. She smiled playfully, but he swallowed hard, and Calleigh suddenly felt like she might have poured gasoline on the slow-burning fuse that was their relationship of late. When he didn't pull away, but ran his thumb along her lower lip, she felt her pulse ratchet up with nervous excitement. _Gotta break the eye contact, gotta break the moment, not yet, not here._ So she turned her head and closed the lid on her container, reaching down to settle it on the floor as she cleared her throat and fumbled something about how they should get back to the lab.

Eric was still locked on her when she sat up, though, and the anxious hammering of her heart hadn't abated. Finally, he looked away, closed his container, handed it to her silently; as she put it away with hers, Calleigh at least had the decency to feel bad for dousing the moment. Again. She felt bad right up until she heard his ripe "fuck it" from beside her and looked back up just in time to see Eric's hand shooting toward her, catching her behind the neck and dragging her into a fierce and sudden kiss.

It was brief but strong, full of pent up desire and teeth and tongue, and oh he tasted like spice and man and she was embarrassingly aroused from just the one kiss, so when he tipped his forehead to hers and licked his lips, it was Calleigh who dove in for the second round. That lower lip was just as kissable as she'd imagined it would be and when she nipped sharply at it, he gasped and all those reasons why they shouldn't do this just flew right out the window. His hand fisted in her hair, hers in his shirt and they tugged each other impossibly closer, the angle awkward and uncomfortable but unimportant. They'd reached the flashpoint and there was nothing to do now but burn.

His hand fell away from her, mouths still feasting on each other, and the sudden break of contact when his seat slid back and tore them apart left them staring at each other. He was panting, mouth already kiss-swollen, eyes dark and hungry but a little stunned, and Calleigh was fairly certain she wore the same combination of sex-crazed and deer-in-headlights, so she smiled at him and nodded, not quite sure what she was reassuring him of, or if he was even the one who needed the confirmation. It was enough though, because he reached for her knee, pulling her into his lap, and Calleigh was suddenly glad for the size of the Hummer because she knew from experience that sex in a car was not all it was cracked up to be if the quarters were cramped. And then she felt his mouth on her throat, tongue and teeth on her pulse, and the vague scrape of his whiskers against her – he'd forgotten to shave. Why was she still thinking? _How_ was she still thinking? There were much more important things at hand, like tugging his shirt from his waistband and running her hand underneath to survey the smooth expanse of muscle there.

His teeth caught her ear and nibbled, making her squirm and gasp, and suddenly the hand that wasn't cupping the back of her neck again (and was it wrong that she found that sexy?) was headed south, down, down skimming her hip to grab her rear and grind her against him. The friction made her moan almost as much as the knowledge of how hard he was already, and if there'd been any doubts where this was headed before, they were gone now. She was going to have sex with Eric Delko in the front seat of a department-issue Hummer, in the parking lot of a Cuban restaurant, on the way back from a crime scene. There was something thrilling about that, and something awful, and her sex-fogged brain took a minute longer than usual to work out how to tip that equation toward the former. "Eric, stop," she breathed, and god was that her voice? Was that how she sounded right now? All husky and sexy and like she belonged on the other end of 900 number?

"Cal." His head fell back against the headrest, the hand behind her neck skimming down to join the other on her rear. "You've gotta be kidding me."

"We can't do this here, not like this." She was breathless, thirsty, hungry for him, and it took a good dose of willpower to work her brain into forming proper sentences.

" _Calleigh._ " The look he gave her was incredulous and almost angry, and she shook her head before allaying his fear.

"No, I mean – back seat. The back windows are tinted." The relieved breath he let out made her smile, and he chuckled, nodded, punched the lock on the door and yanked it open. Calleigh very nearly fell on her face as she maneuvered herself out of the car and by the time they had scrambled into the backseat and locked the doors again, they were giggling like naughty schoolkids. "This is ridiculous," she told him as she leaned back against the passenger side door and reached for the button of her slacks.

"I'm okay with that." Eric grinned, brushing her fingers away to release the fastening himself. "And we both knew this was gonna happen eventually, right?"

"Well, yes, but we're about to have sex, on the clock, about a-" He shut her up with another of those delicious, starving kisses, and that was better, she supposed, because if he let her keep talking she might just manage to talk herself out of this, and if she did, her body (not to mention her pride – and probably Eric) would never forgive her. So she ordered her brain to shut up for once, and busied herself with tugging his shirt up and over his head. She'd seen him shirtless a time or two before, but it was totally different when he was shirtless in the context of sex, so she pushed him back and straddled him again, running her palms down his chest and over his abs as he began flipping open the buttons of her blouse.

The tiny buttons proved a challenge for him, and Calleigh supposed it didn't help that she had leaned in and begun to lave wet kisses down his neck, across his bare shoulder. His firm, well-muscled shoulder, and, _God_ , was he delicious. Why had they waited so long to do this?

She nipped him lightly again, and heard the pop as he tore one of her buttons in his rush to get her naked. She hissed his name and frowned as she pulled back to survey the damage. "Damnit," she breathed, shaking her head as she made quick work of the two remaining buttons and shrugged the shirt to the floor. He apologized, tucking the stray button into the pocket of her unbuttoned-but-still-on slacks before cupping her breasts and ducking his head to suck hard, heavy kisses over the swells. She moaned, and he nipped, then tugged the cup of her bra to the side and sent heat flashing through when he teased her hardened peak.

Her hips ground down against his, and she felt the exhale of his excited groan against the damp skin under his mouth, felt the delicious friction of him between her thighs and started a quick, rocking rhythm. Her head tipped back, eyes blinking open and trained blindly on the ceiling of the Hummer, their quiet gasps and grunts and moans of encouragement filling the cab and thrilling her. When he tugged at the other cup and treated her other breast to the same delicious attention, she dropped her head forward again, eyes falling immediately on the evidence crates in the back of the car. Crap. They had to hurry; they were expected back soon.

Unwilling to end the kisses and nips and sucks that were making her moans go high and breathy, she cupped the back of his head with one hand, the other snaking between their bodies to tug his belt free and undo his button, his fly. His hips surged high beneath hers suddenly, and she took the cue to shove at his pants, losing her patience when they caught high on his thighs. He could get them off from there, she figured, shoving him back down to the seat and reaching into his boxer-briefs to draw him out.

His head fell back against the headrest, eyes dropping shut with a groan and she watched his Adam's apple bob with a swallow as she gave him a few lazy strokes. His lashes fluttered adorably before his eyes cracked open, one of his hands slidding down and effortlessly invading her slacks, ducking past her panties to find her wet and ready. His moan spurred hers, and when he found her slick, swollen clit and rubbed she cursed softly, eyes squeezing shut for a moment, before blinking back open to lock with his. She tightened her grip on him, pumped faster, swallowed, groaned, felt her thighs turn to liquid when he matched her rhythm with his, fingers pressed hard, pushing her up, up, until his name became a mantra. Her forehead dropped to his, and she felt everything draw together, tighten, poise, before she tore her hand away from him and tugged at his wrist.

"No," she gasped, shaking her head and wrestling his hand away from her. "I want you in me when-"

"Nuh uh." He evaded her grip, dove back in, thrust two fingers in easily before she could stop him and earned himself a soft, keening cry. She clenched around him involuntarily, and it took embarrassingly few thrusts before she was coming and gasping and trembling against him, her orgasm hard and satisfying. And if the shit-eater grin on his face when she finally blinked her eyes back open was any indication, she wasn't the only one it had satisfied.

"Bastard." She was panting hard, her limbs tingling, and she grinned when he told her she didn't mean that. Her only reply was another searing kiss and a hissed, " _Now_."

"Gladly," he groaned, helping her maneuver to rid herself of her slacks and underwear before she settled over him again, guiding him to her entrance and sinking onto him with a gasp.

Eric clenched his jaw at the heat of her, at how tight and wet her orgasm had made her. The look on her face was mesmerizing, mouth open, eyes deep green and a little wild, hair all mussed. She was flushed down the tops of her breasts, and he was suddenly glad they hadn't stopped somewhere closer to the lab because CSIs weren't dumb, and he had a feeling they'd both look thoroughly fucked when this was over. And that was all the thinking Eric Delko cared to do, so he gripped her hips and urged her into an easy, shallow rhythm, watching her lick her lips and shut her eyes, her arms wrapping around his neck. He couldn't resist leaning in for another kiss and she obliged by pressing back against him, hitching her hips harder, faster.

The new rhythm ratcheted his pleasure higher and he wasn't sure how long he'd last because she was better than he'd imagined, smelled of Calleigh and sweat and sex and the way she looked when she came was still fresh in his mind as she whimpered desperately into his mouth. Eric brought one hand up between their grinding bodies, found her soft, full breast again with a moan and began to tug and twist at her nipple between each thrust of hip. That it tripped her up almost immediately thrilled him, and he grinned against her lips as her rocking became erratic, hips swiveling with each pull, moans going throaty and indulgent like they had when he'd had his hand in her pants.

She arched, rode him harder, until she lost her rhythm to the pleasure with a harsh gasp and a series of breathy moans, muscles gripping him rhythmically. But he wanted her to scream so he tightened the hand on her hip to keep her moving and slid the one from her breast down to press against her clit and rub hard again. She cried out then, and he grinned, just barely holding on as she wrung out another climax on him but when his name startled to tumble from her lips he was a goner. Ecstasy boiled up his spine, poured out into her with a groan of her name in return, and when it was over she collapsed against him, spent, sucking in air like a drowning woman. Eric was no better off, parched and limp-limbed, torso sheened lightly with sweat.

For a moment, the only sound in the Hummer was their heavy breathing. Then, she started to giggle. Quietly at first, her shoulders shaking lightly against him, and nerves twisted in Eric's gut. Laughter wasn't exactly the reaction he hoped for after sex. But she lifted her head, grinned giddily at him, stroked her palm over his skull and snickered, "That was insane."

"Yeah," he agreed, nerves uncoiling when she nudged her nose against his and pressed their lips together again as her laughter subsided. "But a good insane."

"A could-get-us-fired insane," she corrected, easing herself off him with a soft moan and reaching down to find her pants and underwear, wriggling into them. "But yeah…" Her eyes flicked up to his, green and soft and open in a way he wasn't quite used to. "Good insane."

Smiling – he couldn't help it – Eric tucked himself back into his pants, taking his shirt back when she handed it to him, and watching as she buttoned herself back into her own. When she reached the missing button, she frowned, glared up at him. "You owe me a shirt."

"A button," he corrected. "I'll sew it back on for you tonight, after I take you to dinner."

"You're taking me to dinner?" she asked, with an arched brow and curved lip.

"If you want."

She started to nod, then shook her head suddenly. "Come over. I'll cook."

"Okay," Eric agreed, reaching out and snagging her elbow to pull her close for another kiss. Then a second. A third.

"We need to get back to work," she murmured against his mouth, pulling away slightly and hesitating.

Eric nodded, let her go the rest of the way, and reached for the door. As far as lunch breaks went, this one had been pretty spectacular.


End file.
